Last Night at Marchesi's

The restaurant was nearly empty when he finally set down his wine glass. Orange light from the streetlamps filtered through the rain-streaked window, catching the dust motes dancing in the space between them.

"You haven't touched your spinach," Sarah said, her voice flat. Not an accusation, just a fact.

Marcus looked at the wilted greens on his plate. They reminded him of their marriage—something once vibrant now reduced to this: overcooked, unseasoned, pushed to the side. "I'm not hungry."

"You're never hungry anymore."

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the deep lines around her eyes. He counted them automatically—six new ones since the miscarriage, since he'd buried himself in work, since they'd become two people who shared a bed but nothing else.

"We need to talk about the house," he said instead.

Her laugh was sharp, startled. "That's what you lead with? After three months of silence?"

"I got a promotion. We could move. Start over."

"Start over." She rolled the words around like stones in her mouth. "You think geography fixes what's broken?" She reached across the table, her hand stopping halfway. "Marcus, look at us. We're sitting in the same restaurant where we had our first date, celebrating a promotion you haven't even told me about until now, and I can't remember the last time you asked me how I am. Not how work was. How I am."

He opened his mouth, closed it. The truth sat in his throat like something stuck in his teeth.

"I saw the texts," she said quietly. "Her name's orange-haired, isn't she? From marketing?"

His fork clattered against his plate. "It's not—it was never—"

"I don't care if you slept with her. I care that you needed someone to talk to, and it wasn't me." She stood up, purse in hand. "I'm done with this dinner. I'm done with us."

The waiter appeared with their check. Marcus sat alone in the orange glow, his untouched spinach growing cold, as he realized lightning doesn't just strike once—sometimes it illuminates everything you've been too afraid to see, and by then, it's too late to seek shelter.